


I can't pocket a spy!

by Orwenn



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 11:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22969516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orwenn/pseuds/Orwenn
Summary: BLU medic is an experienced mercenary and saw a lot in the Badlands. Be it a mighty Heavy Weapons Guy or a scrawny Scout, Medic's teammates can do wonders when the German genius keeps an eye on them. Sadly, Medic always relies on his team... and his current team is a bit TOO unbalanced.
Kudos: 11





	I can't pocket a spy!

_Hallo, team! Guten Morgen!_

The BLU Medic entered the spawn and cheerfully waved his hand. It was uncommon for the grim German to be so happy, but now a wide smile crossed his face and his coat was snow-white and untainted. Even better, Medic's "zee German" accent didn't sound evil as it usually does. Yes, the Medic had a wonderful mood and a good feeling for the coming battle. But... as he approached the team, his good feeling began to vanish. Medic spotted a devil in details and those details were ski-masks. Four ski-masks.

Those ski-masks each came in a set with a man wearing it along with an expensive suit and a silk tie. And last but not least, all of them had a cigarette in their mouths, filling the spawn room with tobacco odor.

"Bonjour!"

"Salut!"

"Hola!"

Three spies warmly greeted the Medic, while the fourth one was too occupied practicing butterfly knife tricks. Click! Flick! Click! The blade danced in his hand, but that dance was only fascinating him and nobody else.

The Medic nodded respectfully and said nothing, as he was a well-mannered man (or at least he felt like being one that morning) and never liked to judge too early. He looked at the rest of the team and his good feeling about the battle disappeared without a trace.

Turns out that the BLU team at the Badwater Basin consisted, without the Medic and four spies, of three snipers, the Pyro and the Soldier. The Soldier was busy selling hats again and, as the Soldier clearly wasn't John Rockfeller, the trade was not going too smooth. It was, maybe, the seventh time he yelled "and that's my final offer, numnut" to somebody else on the phone. The snipers were sitting in a corner of the spawn room, chatting and blurting bizarre Australian insults Medic never learned and never wanted to learn. Yes, all three snipers were tall and slim men, Australian as a prison inmate fleeing from the police through a desert on a kangaroo. The only person who could understand Medic's rising dismay was the Pyro, even though he was wearing a gas mask most people found sinister.

"How are ve going to vin zis?" Medic asked none in particular.

"Oi, Medic! Howdy? Whaddya mean?" said the Sniper. Since there are three "the Snipers" and all of them had minimal differences between each other, we will call them the Gibus Sniper (as he was wearing the Ghostly Gibus), the Left Sniper and the Right Sniper. That phrase was said by the Right Sniper, who stood in the middle between the Left Sniper and the Gibus Sniper.

"I mean ve can't vin zis. To vin, ve need to push ze cart. To push, ve need a good frontline, and support classes can... zey support, Gott im Himmel, zey don't push. Ve need another classes." Medic explained.

"Well, Medic, why don't you change the class? Medic is a support class, as far as I know," one of the Spies said and all the spawn room went quiet. Medic was a bit shocked, the Snipers and Spies exchanged looks and the Pyro did his best to look intimidating. Since his mask wasn't intimidating enough for him, he started to slowly raise his fire axe.

"Eat THAT, maggot! Three keys more than the backpack price! Yeah!" Soldier shouted suddenly and started to do his victory dance while singing altered lyric of "The Star-Spangled Banner. "A-a-a-i looooove Ame-rica and I love ca-pi-talism!"

"Excuse me, Medic, we had no intent to insult you," another spy said to stop the awkward moment. "But I'm more than confident in my own skills. You will not regret having a spy such as me in your team."

"Yeah, the fancypants is roight this time. It's all be done in the best way possible!" the Left Sniper said exchanging confident looks with the Right Sniper, but not with the Gibus Sniper.

"Ach, _nein!_ I don't question your skills or vatever, I need people to push the _bloody_ (that word came suddenly out of Medic, and he would never have said it if he wasn't talking to snipers) bomb to the hatch!"

"I see, Medic, and I can call one of my Heavy friends to take my place," cheerfully said the spy in a fedora.

"Danke, Spy. A Heavy will be a world to help us now." Medic replied.

"And I will call an engineer. Not much firepower, but that little labourer can build a dispenser or a teleport where you need it." said the butterfly knife trick spy. He just wanted to be away from the battle to practice his beloved knife-whirling at peace this day.

"Ja, gut! Gut! And snipers, come on! I could use your help as vell!" Medic encouraged.

While Medic was talking to spies, the Snipers switched their positions. The Gibus Sniper was nowhere to be seen, and now the Left Sniper was standing to the Right Sniper's right, which kind of makes him the right one, but I will not change their code names. 

"Er, if that is so much of a problem, I can call a Demoman, sure..." said the Left Sniper. "Not quite sure you need that bomb hauling mongrel, he's usually drinking hard this part of day and can't tell a bomb on a payload from a juicy steak, but alright.

"Ve do need a Demoman too, and don't underestimate your teammates, Sniper," Medic said. " _Ubi concordia, ibi victoria."_

"Whatever, sawbones. Now be quiet, pikers, I'm ca..."

When the Left Sniper was holding his phone, it started to ring. With another weird insult, the Australian answered the call.

"Oi, whaddya need, wanka?"

Nobody in the spawn room could hear the response, but the Left Sniper's face changed from somewhat calm to enraged in matter of split seconds.

"You what, mate? You nuts?! I will make a steak out of ye body, will make a gravy out of ye blood, a necklace out of ye teeth! Ya piker! A duel... Tough guy, are ye?! You're dead, nub."

The Left Sniper put his phone back in his vest, burning with inner hatred.

"That RED _snoipah..._ aye, he calls himself a real sniper... the poor nub called me on a duel. My arse!" the Left Sniper yelled. Not like he wanted to say that his adversary is a Nubian and therefore a nub, no, he meant that his rival is new to his profession.

"Ah, don't mind him, doc. I will call the Demo." said the Right Sniper for Medic's great pleasure.

After half an hour, the Heavy, the Engineer and the Demoman were, more or less, ready to strike, and the battle was about to start. The Medic was a bit nervous, but he still had enough morale to be confident. The new Heavy seemed to be a wide, tall and reliable hunk of a man... well, your average run-of-a-mill Heavy Weapons Guy, what else is there to say. The Engineer was also a calm and cold-minded fella, even though he complained about not being able to build his contraptions in the spawn room a bit too much. The Demo was relatively sober, because his storage of scotch waned to nothing and now he was down to drinking beer.

Perhaps, the only weird thing was the music, which was heard from the RED side of the gates. That music clearly wasn't popular rock, jazz or blues... it seemed like an upbeat classical music.

"Mission begins in ten seconds! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!"

And when the Administrator's stone-cold voice went quiet, the iron gates of the spawn room fell down. The BLUs attacked with enthusiastic battle cries. At first, the saw no enemies. The way to the payload was free from any RED mercenaries... but it was too early to relax. The music suddenly became louder. It was _Rule, Britannia!_

"Gaaawd saive da Queeeeeen!" the BLUs heard a loud shout. There was at least ten voices in that dismaying battle cry. And then the BLUs saw the RED team. Eleven snipers.

_When Britain first, at heaven's command!_

All RED snipers raised their rifles and scoped.

_Arose from the azure main!_

A random bullet went through the head of one of BLU spies. He had a dead ringer, but he hadn't it activated.

_Arose, arose, arose from the azure main!_

Duel Status: The RED SNOIPAH: 1; The Left Sniper: 0.

_This was the charter, the charter of the land!_

BLU Demoman now had a third eye socket, even though he only had one eye.

_And guardian angels sang this strain:_

Three little red spots flew around BLU heavy's forehead.

_Rule Britannia!_

One Machina shot left the BLU heavy and medic lying on the ground with dumb dead looks on their faces.

_Britannia rule the waves!_

New unusual Stainless Pot (effect: Burning Flames) didn't save the BLU soldier from a -450 headshot. Not like the BLU engie evaded that fate with his unique-quality Engineer's Cap 

_Britons never, never, never shall be slaves!_

The BLU pyro did a wonderful backflip with a bullet in his head.

The music went quiet, the RED snipers did not.

"Spoi here!"

"Jarate!"

"Jarate?! NO!"

"I hate you!"

After two kukri strikes, the air exploded with Announcer's amazed shout.

"Teamwipe! You've killed them all!"

Legend says the muffled giggle of RED snipers could be heard both in England and Japan.

So, why should not you pick a sniper if there are already four of them in your team? Because that's a legend! In reality, those snipers were shred to pieces and dumped in a rubbish bin. And yes, the _Rule, Britannia_ part was also false.

Friend, learn to pick a class correctly.


End file.
